Queer comedy open mic filled a void, Chicago's Next Voices columnist writes

I enter the back room of a bar and find 20 comics hunched over notebooks, workshopping jokes for that night’s open mic. I add my name to the sign-up sheet and see that I'm one of a few women performing.

I take a seat next to a guy who looks like a dead ringer for Svengoolie, and we chat about our stand-up experience. He says he’s been doing this for years and performs six times a week.

Impressed, I ask if he finds value in hearing other people’s jokes. He laughs and admits he doesn’t stay to watch and leaves right after his set. He says his standards for comedy are pretty high — he’s heard it all before, and nothing surprises him.

When he’s called to the stage, I lean forward in my seat, eager to find out what kind of jokes someone with “pretty high standards” has prepared. He performs four minutes of a set so lewd that it’s too inappropriate for publication. He gets his biggest laugh when he leaves the stage.

And then the next guy is called up. He shares equally profane jokes. And then the next guy and the next guy and the next guy.

The comedy scene is dominated by male performers. Chicago is no exception. And comics’ jokes often cater to the room, which is full of other men.

There’s nothing wrong with hearing jokes told from the male perspective. But, when that’s the only kind of comedy for two to three hours, it starts to sound like group therapy at a frat house.

When I’m one of the few women in the room, I stand out and become an easy target for the comic on stage. Don’t get me wrong: I love well-timed crowd work. But the attention can quickly feel hostile when I’m taking the brunt of every passing dig at women.

Of the 82 open mics found on the Chicago Comedy Open Mics list, only six expressly identify as being a space where female, BIPOC, queer and nonbinary comics are welcome. Sometimes, hosts stress being respectful, but guidelines rarely are in place to enforce this. We need spaces where inclusiveness is a priority.

This year, my friends and I decided to create the mic we deserved. We began hosting a queer comedy open mic — "A Mic of Their Own" — at Whiskey Girl Tavern in Edgewater.

Our first open mic welcomed almost two dozen performers, with the majority identifying as female, queer or trans. And they brought friends — lots of them. There were more than 50 people in the room at all times. Even the performers stayed until the end, highlighting the ways we thrive as comedians when we’re part of a community that supports one another.

Our mic continues to attract hilarious comics, many who have said it’s one of the safest rooms they’ve performed in.

We’re excited to be one of several new open mics showcasing diverse voices, signaling a positive shift in the Chicago stand-up scene. Our goal is to continue fostering space for those who haven’t always felt welcomed because everyone deserves the chance to make others laugh.